


A Hard Knock

by caliowl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Monster of the Week, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl
Summary: A sudden onset of fog causes Stanley and Stanford to come across an unusual sight. Chaos ensues and Stanford ends up hurt. Fortunately for Stanford, Stanley is there to care for him.
Relationships: Stanford Pines/Stanley Pines
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	A Hard Knock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DejaBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DejaBoo/gifts).



> This is a fic written for the lovely and very kind DejaBoo who submitted this prompt to me on Tumblr:  
> "Could you maybe write something like old stans on the stan o war after a fight and one of them is injured (either seriously or not) and the other is taking care of him, if you feel up to it? I'm a huge fan of your stancest fics🥰🥰"
> 
> Thank you again so much for your prompt and lovely comment! This was such a blast to write! I hope you get a kick out of this fic :D
> 
> Edit to say: A HUGE thank you to yehvaru for beta-ing my fic! You are so awesome and incredibly talented and I love you to the moon and back! <3

“Hmm. Well didn’t  _ that _ weather come on fast?” Stanley comments mildly. “I dunno about you, Sixer, but I can barely see a few feet in front of me. How’re you holding up?”

Stanford squints hard in an attempt to improve his visibility through the soup-like fog that came on suddenly about five minutes ago. He grips the helm tightly, attempting to steer as straight as possible and hoping against hope not to run into anything. “Unfortunately, about the same,” he grits out. He quickly sounds the ship’s whistle to alert other vessels in the area to their location.

“I’m telling ya, Sixer, this is the work of ghost pirates,” Stan continues, turning to look back at his brother from the bow of the boat. “Ain’t nothin’ natural about  _ this _ .”

Stanford scoffs. “Please, Stanley. If this is the work of anyone or any _ thing _ , then it’s the work of something more endemic to the area.”

“S’at right?” Stanley smirks. “How ‘bout a wager then? This is clearly caused by that anomaly that pinged your fancy watch thingamajig. Pirates versus…what? Mermen with fog machines?”

Stanford rolls his eyes. “Makes more sense than pirates with dry ice.”

“Dry-! Sixer!” Stanley cries, aghast. “I would think that  _ you _ of all people would be on board with this! You’re always going out and looking for weird crap! Can you really look me in the eye and tell me you  _ don’t _ believe in ghost pirates?”

“Oh I believe they may exist,” Stanford assures him. “All I’m saying is that I have a hard time believing their presence would necessitate a type of smoke screen. Now something predatory like a kraken?  _ That _ may rely on something to confuse its prey.”

Stanley stares at him in disbelief. “Are you really gonna stand there and try to convince me that  _ pirates _ aren’t predatory?”

Stanford sighs and rubs briefly at the bridge of his nose. “I know what you’re getting at, Stanley, but you know there’s a difference between ghosts and natural predators, especially in an environment like this one! Surely if it  _ were _ ghosts, they would have made their appearance by now? Why take so long to ambush their targets? No, this is definitely something far more sinister.”

“All I’m saying is, there’s something to be said for  _ gravitas _ , Sixer. Something I would think  _ you _ would know more about, considering the way you act.”

“The way I-!”

“Anyway,” Stanley says, effectively cutting his twin off. “I’m still in for pirates. And I guess you’re down for ‘vicious mermaids’-”

“Moses, Stanley, at least put me down for ‘vicious  _ kraken _ ’, would you? Although,” Stanford puts a thoughtful hand under his chin, “we  _ have _ encountered a few mermaids that could be labeled ‘malicious’…”

“Fine, fine,” Stanley says, waving away his brother’s mutterings as if they were a bothersome fly. “Pirates for me, kraken for you. Whoever loses has to cook dinner  _ and _ do the dishes. Now, how to go about finding out who’s right…”

Stanford bites his lip in a sly grin. “I have the feeling that that light over there could potentially  _ illuminate _ the subject.”

Stanley groans loudly and brings a hand over his eyes. “Moses, Sixer, that was terrible, even for you!” But when he looks in the direction his twin is pointing, he does indeed see a small, yellow light bobbing up and down above the waves a little ways’ away.

He sighs. “Alright. Let’s head towards the light of, no doubt, impending doom. You know if we die, I’m haunting your ass for eternity, right?”

“Yes, Stanley. You’ve made that very clear the last few times we’ve headed towards impending doom.” Stanford replies tiredly, as this particular conversation had become an old one between them. “Let’s see what we have here…”

As the boat sailed closer to the light, it became apparent that the source was coming from a lantern held aloft by a man in a dark raincoat sitting in a dinghy. He had his head down so the hood obscured his face. The boat itself looked to be old, as it was made from a dark, stressed wood instead of an inflatable material.

“Bingo!” Stanley crowed, throwing his brother a triumphant look. “Look at that old thing! Good thing we got our tetanus shots before we left home, eh? And a  _ lantern _ ? Oh, this is ghost territory for sure! Better get a recipe ready and find a sponge, Sixer, because I nailed it this time!”

Stanford pouted. “Just because things  _ seem _ ghostly doesn’t necessarily mean they are.”

“Ah, stop being a sore loser and get closer to the dinghy, wouldja? The sooner he looks up and scares the pants off’a us, the sooner I get my chow,” Stanley says, getting closer to the railing of the ship and peering over the side.

Stanford, still with a small  _ moue _ hanging about his lips, slowly guided the Stan O’ War II closer to the small vessel.

Stanley frowns the closer they get. “I don’t get it. What’s he waiting for? Hey buddy!” He calls out to the stranded man with the lantern. “If you’re waiting around for a couple-a saps to fall into your trap, it’s your lucky day!”

When the figure continues to sit motionless, Stanley’s frown deepens. “Seriously. What’s your  _ deal _ ?” He looks around and grabs one of their longer fishing nets. “Yoohoo! Anybody awake in there?” Stanley uses the net to prod insistently at the body in the boat. “Hey. Hey! Feel like suddenly coming alive and trying to taste human flesh?”

“Stanley! Stop it!” Stanford snaps. “That’s not doing anything. Plus, I thought you said he was a ghost, not a zombie.”

“Eh, six of one, half a dozen of the other, Sixer,” Stanley replies. “Anyway, you got any other ideas? He’s not exactly the liveliest anomaly we’ve come across.”

Stanford eyes the figure in the boat. “Well…”

Stanley looks at his face and then heaves out a loud, put-upon sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “You’re gonna suggest we get a closer look, aren’tcha?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Stanford nods. “Right. I’ll go first.”

Stanley’s head shoots up immediately. “What? No, you’re not.”

“What do you mean?” Stanford frowns. “You tried your method, and now it’s my turn.”

“Sixer, you’re my twin and the closest person to me. So this comes from a place of love.” Stanley puts a reassuring hand on Stanford’s shoulder, and Stanford gives it a dubious look. “You’re not the best at hand-to-hand combat.”

“What?” Stanford cries, affronted. “If you’ll remember correctly, I’ve put  _ you _ on your back a few times!”

Stanley gives him a saucy look. “Believe me, I remember, toots.” Stanford colors immediately. “But be honest. You’re more of a weapons man, yeah?” Stanford’s eyes slide to the side and he reluctantly nods. Stanley grips his shoulder more firmly and gives it a friendly shake. “So let me handle this one, ok? I know I’d feel better knowing you were watching my back.”

Stanford sighs and reluctantly concedes the point. “Be careful, Stanley. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

Stanley salutes him with two fingers. “Aye, aye, cap’n!”

Conscientious of moving too quickly and potentially startling whoever or  _ what _ ever was in the boat, Stanley slowly makes his way over the side of the Stan O’ War II and into the old dinghy. When his presence seems to elicit no response, he looks back at Ford and shrugs before turning back to the hunched figure.

“Hey buddy. You alright?” Stanley asks, and puts his hand on the figure’s shoulder, giving it an amiable shake.

The movement disturbs the hood of the raincoat, causing it to fall off the figure’s head. Stanley finds himself staring into the unseeing eye holes of what appears to be a mummified corpse, with no nose and mouth open in a permanent, rictus scream.

“Holy FUCK!” He cries, throwing himself backwards to put distance between himself and the mummy.

As soon as Stanley’s back hits the aft of the dinghy, the craft suddenly shoots forward, as if propelled by a giant motor.

“Stanley!” Stanford screams, reaching instinctively for his twin. Stanley, however, is too busy screaming to reciprocate.

Suddenly the sea around them begins to boil, and from the depths of the ocean rises a leviathan of an anglerfish. Stanford can make out the filmy eyes and giant, razor sharp teeth as it breaches the water, its lure the “dinghy” that Stanley was still holding onto, held aloft above its gaping maw.

“Stanley! Hold on!” Stanford cries, racing back towards the stern of the boat to grab his trusty harpoon. He sprints to the starboard side and takes aim at a giant, milky eye, accounting for the violent rolling of the ship under his feet. Stanford takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, blocking out everything around him except that giant, filmy eye. Only then, does he hurl his weapon.

Stanford’s aim is true, and the harpoon lodges itself deep into the eye of the massive fish, causing it to toss and scream soundlessly in agonized pain. Stanley loses his grip on the creature’s lure and gets tossed into the agitated waters below.

When he comes up for air, he just catches his last sight of the injured creature as it submerges, taking the fog and fake dinghy-lure with it. “Yeah!” He screams after it, shaking a fist. “You’d better run, ugly!” With that and a quick, well-hocked loogie, Stanley makes his way back to the Stan O’ War II.

“Ford!” He calls as he reaches the aft. “Little help?” He waits a few beats and when no response is forthcoming, he begins to get a little worried. “…Ford?”

Upon receiving further silence, Stanley hauls himself out of the water and up onto the Stan ‘O War II. He hits the deck with a loud ‘smack’ and groans, hefting himself up. He looks in the direction of the cabin and his heart stops.

Stanford is slumped by the door, below a long trail of blood. His eyes are closed, and from this distance Stanley isn’t even sure he’s  _ breathing _ .

“STANFORD!”

Stanley stumbles over to his brother’s side and uselessly hovers his hands in shock for a few, precious seconds before regaining his composure and pressing two fingers to his twin’s neck in search of a pulse. He finds one, thank goodness, and he focuses on reviving his brother. He lifts Stanford’s head slightly, cradling the back of it, and lightly pats at his cheeks in the hopes of waking him up.

“Stanford?” He tries, softly. “Hey, Stanford, I need you to wake up for me, ok, sweetheart?” Upon receiving no reaction, he increases the force of his pats. “Stanford? …Ford? C’mon, Sixer, wake up. I need to make sure you’re ok!”

He continues his efforts until he’s almost slapping at his brother, before he notices Stanford’s right eye twitch. “Mmn?”

“Oh, thank Moses, Sixer!” Stanley cries, cradling his head and gathering him up into a tight hug. “I was afraid you’d got brain damage or something!”

“S-Stanley…”

“Yeah, Ford?”

“I…I’m…I don’…”

Suddenly Stanley’s shoved backwards and just before he can ask what the heck  _ that _ was about, he hears the familiar sound of retching. He sighs and crawls over to his twin’s prone form, where he’s lying on his side throwing up. Stanley puts a hand on Stanford’s back and rubs it in small circles while he uses the other to alternate combing through and parting his brother’s matted hair.

“That’s it, bro. Just let it all out. I’ve had concussions before – they’re not pretty and they’re  _ definitely _ not fun. But you’ll be alright. These cuts you’ve got don’t look too serious…”

All he receives in response is a violent gagging sound and he sighs in empathy. “Yeah, it blows. Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha. I’ll take good care of you, Sixer, no worries.”

He hears a pitiful moan that tugs at his heartstrings and leans down to lightly kiss his twin’s head.

“I threw up on the boat, Stanley…”

“Shhh…yeah, you really did a number on the ol’ gal. But it’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. Remember ‘Brown Meat Taco Night’? Boy, did  _ that _ ever backfire!”

“I’ll clean it-”

“No way,” Stanley abruptly cuts him off. “I told you, Sixer, I got this. You don’t worry about a thing except getting better, hear me?”

“…‘kay,” Stanford whimpers, and Stanley can barely take hearing his normally hale and hearty brother sounding so pitiful.

“You done?”

“…For now. I think.” Stanford moans. “But everything’s spinning so fast…”

“Yeah, the world tends to do that after a good knock to the noggin’,” Stanley confirms. “Here. I’ll pick you up and get you inside.”

He helps Stanford sit up and picks him up in a bridal carry before making his way down into the cabin. Stanford leans his head heavily against Stanley’s breast and when Stanley sits him on their shared bed he notices that some blood from one of Stanford’s cuts got on his shirt.

“Hey Sixer, you sit there, ok? I’m gonna go grab the med kit. I’ll be right back.”

“Ok,” Stanford whispers with his eyes tightly closed with one hand pressed over half of his face. Stanley makes sure to fetch the kit as quickly as possible, along with a bowl of water and a cloth for cleaning out the cuts.

“Heeere we go,” he drawls quietly, mindful of his twin’s, no doubt, nasty headache, and pulls up a chair next to the bed where his brother is sitting. “Now, let’s take a look at that big ol’ head of yours, huh?”

Stanford snorts and winces. “Don’t make me laugh,” he begs. “It hurts to laugh.”

“Well I’ll try, Sixer, but you know Ma told me never to dim my sparkling personality.”

Stanford groans and Stanley grins while he cleans the cuts.

“Yeah, these look superficial,” Stanley comments. “They just bleed like no one’s business. Let’s get some antiseptic and gauze on there and you’ll be right as rain.”

Stanford nods and winces, “shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah, headaches and nods don’t always mix. Can you hold the gauze in place while I wrap?”

“Sure.”

They spend the next minute or two in silence as Stanley wraps some more gauze around Stanford’s head to keep the pads in place. When he’s done, Stanley smiles and presses a light kiss to Stanford’s forehead over the gauze. “There we go! Good as new!”

Stanford scoffs but otherwise doesn’t comment. Stanley goes over to their belongings and grabs a fresh pair of boxers. “Now, to get you out of those wet clothes,” he says, sending a suggestive eyebrow waggle Stanford’s way.

“…You’ve been wanting to say that for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Since you put ‘em on this morning, babe,” Stan says with a playful wink. “Here, lemme help you.”

Together they make quick work of Stanford’s clothes, with Stanford making minimal adjustments and Stanley peeling off the wet articles, and when Stanford’s all nice and dry in his clean pair of boxers Stanley makes sure to tuck him into their shared bed. He turns away to start cleaning, when he feels a light tug on the back of his raincoat. “Sixer?”

“Will you lie down with me?”

“Are you kiddin’? When I get back here, I’m gonna damn well  _ soar _ into this bed!” Stanley says, basking in the wide smile his quip earns him. “I’m just gonna clean up a few things around here first, ok?”

“Ok,” Stanford agrees in a whisper, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. “See you soon.”

Stanley gives his hand a firm, reassuring squeeze before bending down and packing up the med kit. He puts it away and heads up to the deck to clean off his brother’s sick. The whole time he gnaws on his bottom lip, thinking about his brother’s injury and remembering the pitiable look on his face when he softly asked Stanley to lie down beside him.

They would have to make sure Stanford didn’t overexert himself over the next few days, which would probably be a bit of a challenge considering how much of a bookworm he was. But if Stanley stayed by his side, he could keep an eye on him and figure out how much activity and stimulation his twin could take before his symptoms started to worsen.

Stanley finishes his chores and double checks that the engine’s stopped before heading inside to make sure everything was secure. Then he sheds his own clothes and climbs into bed as naked as he was born alongside Stanford.

Immediately two hands reach out and grasp at him, pulling him close. Stanford nuzzles into his chest and sighs contentedly, curling into the fetal position. Stanley puts his arms around him in turn, throwing a leg over both of Stanford’s own for good measure. He wasn’t letting his brother out of his sight for a good, long while.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Stanley,” Stanford murmurs, sounding already halfway to sleep. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Stanley chuckles softly. “Same to you, Sixer. I woulda been fish food if you hadn’t’ve thrown that harpoon as well as you did.”

Stanley can hear the pout in Stanford’s voice when he says, “now I’m out a harpoon.”

“Eh, you’ve got a few more left over. You can use those later until you feel up to building yourself a new one.” Stanford always insisted on building his own weapons, which Stanley assumed came from his time spent in his nerd dimension. Every time they perused weapons shops, he was usually staring at them with a critical eye and muttering about how they could be improved.

“Can I sleep?” Stanford asks.

“Yeah, get some shut-eye, Sixer. It’ll be good for what ails ya.”

“…And you’ll be here when I wake up?”

Stanley tilts his head and plants a few, light kisses on the crown of his twin’s head. “Always. You ain’t gettin’ rid of me, Sixer. I’m stuck to ya like glue from now on.”

Stanford tightens his grip around Stanley and sighs contentedly. “Good. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go. Not ever again.”

Stanley swallows against a sudden, large lump that had formed in his throat and coughs to try to clear it. “Good. That’s-that’s good.”

Stanford chuckles and winces again, before settling and pressing a light kiss into Stanley’s chest hair. “Good night, Stanley. I love you.”

Stanley gives him a light squeeze in response, and hopes the tears in his eyes don’t reflect in his voice when he says, “sleep well, Sixer. Love you, too.”

Together they fall asleep like that, cocooned in each other’s arms, lulled into gentle slumber by the ocean waves.


End file.
